


no movies on break

by Ryomou



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryomou/pseuds/Ryomou
Summary: "Stanley’s not sure what movie they’re watching, but he’s pretty sure that it’s not good. Only pretty sure because he’s not really paying attention, too taken in by the loud presence next to him to focus on anything resembling plot or dialogue."orThey were just supposed to watch a movie, but how's a man supposed to concentrate when Richie's sitting there being all Richie-ish?
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 102





	no movies on break

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.

Stanley’s not sure what movie they’re watching, but he’s pretty sure that it’s not good. Only _pretty sure_ because he’s not really paying attention, too taken in by the loud presence next to him to focus on anything resembling plot or dialogue.

Richie’s not _actually_ being loud.

For _once_.

But his existence is loud.

It’s like…even though he’s confined to one corner of the sofa, he takes up every inch of the room. The vibrant print of his shirt is loud, the way he sprawls his stupidly long legs is loud, his unruly mop of dark curls is loud, the sharp cut of his jaw—

“Okay there, Staniel?”

Stan’s heart leaps into his throat, remembering a night not too long ago that started with those same words and ended with a hot mouth panting against the shell of his ear and long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. But they’re not in their dorm right now; Stanley’s housesitting for his parents over spring break, and Richie’s not even supposed to be here.

Richie’s arm is stretched over the back of the couch, and he gently brushes the base of Stan’s neck with two fingers, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Relax…” His voice forever teasing, but his magnified eyes calm behind his glasses.

Stan can’t relax, not with the memory of Richie’s hands on him, the feeling of an erection pressed hard against his hip. He’d wanted to take it into his mouth, wanted to take _Richie_ into his mouth. Wanted to taste him and feel him, wanted his fingers tangled in his hair. He wanted it then. He wants it now.

“Richie…” Stanley is absolutely breathless.

Richie knows that sound.

“What is it, Stanny?” he murmurs.

Stanley feels hot and cold at the same time—knows what he wants, knows he won’t get it unless he asks for it—doesn’t know _how_ to ask for it.

He mumbles shyly into his knuckles, hoping that will get the point across well enough.

“What was that?”

Stan mumbles again.

Richie leans forward, using his free hand to pull Stanley’s fist from his mouth.

“Speak up. You know I can’t hear you.”

“…wanna suck you off…”

Richie’s mouth slides into a gorgeously mischievous grin.

“Yeah?” He lewdly rubs at the erection Stan can already see growing underneath his jeans. “You wanna suck me off, Stanley?” 

Stan nods quickly, desperately, pulling his lower lip between his teeth before whispering: “Please.”

A deep hum in response.

“You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?”

No, Stanley doesn’t know—wishes Richie would tell him again, but all of a sudden, Richie’s kissing him, all heated breath and wet tongue and it’s so, _so_ good. Stanley whimpers, groping at the other’s shoulders, tangling fingers in that ridiculous, _beautiful_ hair.

“Good boy,” Richie breathes against his lips. “You gonna show me what that sweet mouth can do, Stanny?”

“Yeah…”

Richie gently detangles Stan’s fingers from his hair so he can stand, noisily undoing his belt only to yank it off and toss it somewhere out of sight. It’s classless and crass, and as nimble fingers undo the button and zip on faded jeans, Stan finds that he absolutely loves it. He loves the bluntness of it all, the inherent _lack_ of romanticism.

He feels frenzied as he paws at Richie, pulling at his pockets, leaning forward to press his lips against his hipbones. Richie lets him; uses it as an opportunity to tug his shirt off before shoving him back so that he can tug his pants and boxers down to his knees. Stan whines both at the loss of contact and at the sight of Richie’s cock springing free.

It’s the first time Stan’s _really_ looked at it, and all of the dick jokes Richie made as a kid suddenly make a lot of sense.

Because he wasn’t fucking kidding.

He’s huge.

Richie hushes him, soothes him by running his thumb over his wet bottom lip, and it takes Stan a moment to realize he’s mouthing something.

“What is it, baby?” Richie asks.

“I want it,” Stan whispers, looking up at him through damp eyelashes. “Please, Richie, I want it.”

The cock in front of him twitches.

“ _Fuck,_ how can I say no to that, huh?” He puts a guiding hand on the back of Stan’s head, urging him forward. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

Stanley follows the motion, worshipfully nuzzles the base of his cock with the tip of his nose before pressing the softest of kisses there. Richie sighs.

That gives Stan the confidence to continue up the side, adoring with little caresses of his tongue and lips. When he gets to the tip, flicks over the slit, he gets a hum in return. He wants more of that—more hums, more sounds. Stanley opens his mouth and immediately swallows down as much as he can.

“ _Ah, fuck!”_

Using his hand to jerk where his mouth can’t reach, Stan tries to set a steady rhythm of back and forth, being mindful of his teeth, trying to remember to use his tongue. There’s so much spit, dripping from his mouth, making lewd sounds, running down Richie’s cock. He opens his eyes when Richie pulls his hair tight in his fist—when had he even closed them in the first place?—and he can see the magnificent clench and release of muscles in his thighs and abdomen.

“Look at me, Stanley.”

Stanley looks up and is mesmerized by Richie’s flushed face and dark eyes. Richie pulls at his hair, _hard_ , and Stan groans around the cock in his mouth. Richie groans back.

“Fuck, you’re so good. Such a good boy for me.”

Suddenly, Richie gives a small, aborted thrust into Stan’s mouth; not enough to gag him, but enough for him to feel it. Stanley keeps a steady gaze on Richie’s face as he does it again.

“This okay?” he asks.

Stan hums.

“Yeah?”

Another thrust, this one a little harder, a little deeper. It hurts his throat. Stan’s cock throbs between his legs. When the next thrust comes, he closes his eyes and dives down to meet it.

“Oh, _fucking Christ_ ,” Richie gasps. He thrusts again. Again. Again. Pauses. He taps Stan’s cheek roughly a few times. “Open your mouth, Stanley.”

Stan doesn’t quite understand how he can open his mouth _wider_ around Richie, but he does, letting his jaw hang loose and open, drool pooling and dripping down his chin and along his neck.

“Good boy. Look up at me.”

Stanley does, face soaked with spit and eyes damp from his mouth being used.

“So pretty for me…”

Richie slowly pushes in, into his mouth, past his gag reflex, into the back of his throat. Stanley tries to remember how to breathe through his nose. He moves so carefully, a gentle rocking motion that Stan quickly grows impatient with. He whines and gurgles to show his discontent, but Richie ignores him, keeping his slow pace steady and measured until Stan feels ready to scream.

In an act of rebellion, he grips the backs of Richie’s thighs and digs his perfectly manicured nails into the softness of them.

Richie immediately yanks Stanley off his cock, who mourns the loss with a whimper.

“Do you really want to be a brat right now, Stanley?”

Stanley’s too frustrated to turn away the chance to get snarky.

“That depends on if you’re going to fuck my face or not.”

“You don’t sound like you _deserve_ to get your face fucked.”

“You don’t sound like you want to fuck me.”

“Fuck you, or fuck your face?”

Stanley feels like his cheeks are on fire. Sure, he’s _thought_ about Richie fucking him, but he never meant to bring it up. It was just a slip of the tongue, that’s all.

Richie looks way too mischievous and way too knowing.

“Stanley, do you want me to fuck you?”

Stan shrugs, disgruntled and overwhelmed.

“Stanley,” Richie takes his face in his hands, “don’t pout. I need you to be clear. Tell me what you want.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Stanley mumbles.

“Thought about what?”

“You fucking me.”

“Yeah?”

Stan nods.

“But is that what you _want_?”

Stanley thinks about Richie’s cock, how it would feel inside of him—if it would even _fit_ inside of him. He thinks about Richie holding him down, telling him how good he is, how pretty he is, how well he takes it—

“Yes.”

“You’re sure.”  
Stan nods again. Vigorously.

“I’m sure. I promise.”

Richie grins and leans forward to kiss Stan on the mouth—all teeth and tongue, both hands still on his cheeks. He gives one a tiny slap when he’s finished, not even sharp enough to sting. Stanley’s cock jumps in the confines of his pants anyway.

“Get undressed for me,” he orders, standing up to kick his own pants the rest of the way off.

Stan’s hands immediately go to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them with practiced precision. He’s shaking a little. Doesn’t know if it’s in anticipation or nervousness; wonders if it’s a mixture of both. Richie, though tactless, is not unobservant.

“Hey,” he gets down on the ground, covering Stan’s hands with his own. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

His face is soft. Kind. Beautiful. Eyes gentle and warm, skin pale and freckled, jawline sharp and strong, nose long and defined. Stanley is in awe of him. Richie is crass and a known Trashmouth, popular, well-liked. Maybe not so much when they were younger, but as adults, there’s not a single person Stanley knows that doesn’t like Richie. So, having him here, like this—Richie looking at him like this…a part of Stan still can’t believe it’s real.

“Tell me I’m pretty?” Stan asks.

“Of course,” Richie breathes. “You’re so pretty,” he runs his hands up along Stan’s chest, “my gorgeous boy.”

Stanley unfastens his pants and shimmies until they’re down his thighs, cock bouncing free as he takes his underwear with them. Richie helps slide the fabric down his legs until they’re free of his feet while Stan discards his shirt over the back of the couch. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel the compulsive urge to fold his clothing.

“Beautiful,” Richie whispers, pressing a kiss to Stanley’s knee.

“And…tell me I’m good?” Stan asks shyly.

“ _Such_ a good boy,” Richie coos, hand brushing just a few inches shy of the other’s cock.

“And…” Stan hesitates.

“And what, baby?” Richie prods, literally, poking at Stan’s sides with the tips of his fingers until he squirms and lets out a giggle. Stan coils one of Richie’s curls around his finger before letting it spring back into place.

“Call me your slut?” Stan murmurs.

Richie hums a low, sultry sound.

“That what you want, Stanny? You wanna be my little slut?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good boy.” He slaps the side of Stan’s thigh hard enough to leave a red handprint. “Lay on the floor for me.”

Stan immediately scrambles to do just that, laying back on soft, plush carpet. Richie settles between his legs, leaning over him to press a careful kiss in the middle of his forehead. He plants another on the tip of his nose, then two more on each cheek. He skips his mouth the nip at his chin before nudging Stan’s head up to lick a delicate line up the length of his neck.

“Gonna mark you up, Stanley,” he says, words accompanied by the sting of teeth at his collarbone. “Make sure everyone knows what a slut you are.”

Stanley groans.

“You like that?” He pauses to suck a mark into the hollow of Stan’s throat. “Like the idea of everyone knowing I fucked you?”

“Yeah…” Stan breathes.

Richie rakes his nails down his sides before dipping low to take one of Stanley’s nipples into his mouth. His back arches off the floor as he warbles a high-pitched, panting sort of noise. Then, Richie sucks _hard_ , pinching with his teeth, and Stan swears he could cry.

Richie moans at Stan’s sounds, sucking with more fervor, hand coming up to play with the neglected nipple, tugging in time with his mouth.

He’s so lost in the feeling, he doesn’t remember saying it—could swear that he didn’t. He would _never_. It’s one of those things he keeps locked in the back of his mind, only creeping out late at night when he dares to wrap his hand around himself. But Richie’s raising up, pressing his lips to the center of his chest, and Stanley can feel the smirk there.

“Daddy, huh?”

And Stan’s shrinking into himself, humiliated and ashamed, but Richie won’t let him. He wrenches his arms away from his face, kisses the tears away from his cheeks.

“Hey, hey…sweetheart…it’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed. I like it.”

Stanley doubts that. But at the same time, it’s Richie. Richie’s probably into a little bit of everything.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Richie presses another kiss to one of Stan’s tear-stained cheeks. “C’mon, let Daddy take care of you.”

Stanley nods, and Richie’s hand wraps around his length and strokes him, hard and slow. Stanley whimpers.

“Good boy.”

Richie bites at Stan’s jaw before ruthlessly sucking a mark into his neck. Stan can’t even be mad. It feels to good. The hand on him. The mouth on him. Richie. _Daddy_.

“Daddy…” Stanley moans. The hand on him speeds up. “D-Daddy!”

“That’s it,” Richie says, raising so that he can look down at Stan’s face. “There’s Daddy’s little slut. Beg for it sweetheart.”

“Please, Daddy!”

“Tell Daddy what you want.”

“I-I want..Nn—”

“Tell Daddy what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me! Please! Please, Daddy!”

“There we go…”

And Richie kisses him, tongue briefly dipping inside his mouth before pulling away. His hand pulls away too, and Stan whines at the loss.

“Be right back, baby.”

Richie scurries over to the side of the couch where his bag is, packed full of old VHS tapes for their movie night. He’s unzipping all of the front pockets, where he victoriously pulls out a strip of condoms and a packet of lube.

“Do you just carry those around?” Stan asks, scandalized.

“Hey,” Richie says, kneeling between the other’s legs. “You never know when you’re gonna need them. Case in point.” He gestures to the naked man in front of him.

Stan scowls, but raises his knees to his chest all the same.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Richie sounds so _pleased._ He tears open the lube, coating his fingers with it. “Look at that pretty little hole. Gonna take me so well, baby.” He touches him _there_ , and Stan jumps, face burning. Richie hushes him delicately before sliding a single finger inside.

“Daddy…” Stan groans.

“That’s it, open up for me, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.” Richie slides another finger in, scissors them, hitches them upwards, and strikes Stanley’s prostate.

Stanley _screams_.

“Oh, fuck, there’s my little slut.”

“Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, fuck me, please, I’m ready, please,” Stan’s babbling, tears leaking from his eyes as Richie massages his prostate.

His cock is leaking, leaving trails of precum on his stomach. He doesn’t think he’s every been so hard, so desperate, in his life. Richie slides _another_ finger into him, and Stanley grips his own hair in frustration.

“Daddy!”

Richie chuckles.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?”

“Please!”

Richie yanks his fingers out with a filthy sound and reaches for a condom.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stanley stops him.

Richie instantly freezes.

“Don’t use one.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m clean, I swear. I’ve never…I mean, are you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m clean”

“I want to feel your cum inside me.”

“ _Fuck_. Are you sure, Stanley?”

“Yes. Please, Rich?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Richie coats himself in the rest of the lube and lines himself up and slowly pushes in. There’s a moment where Stan’s sure it’s not going to fit, where all he feels is _pressure_ and _stretch_ and it’s _so much, too much_ but then Richie’s inside, filling him up more and more until he’s so full he can barely take it.

Stanley can hardly breathe.

Richie’s gasping.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby. Oh, fuck, you feel incredible.”

He moves his hips in small circles and Stanley wails as the motion scrapes his prostate.

“That’s it. Cry for me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck me, Daddy,” Stan whispers, not even sure Richie can hear it.

But he does. He pulls out until just the tip is inside, and slams back in with one strong thrust that knocks all the air from Stan’s lungs. Tears are leaking from Stanley’s wide eyes as he gazes up at Richie with reverence. Richie thrust again. Again.

Stanley screams.

“Good boy. Fucking scream for me,” Richie says through gritted teeth.

His voice is so deep, coming from somewhere low in his chest, sounding guttural and primal and so, so good. His thrusts speed up, still hitting Stanley’s prostate, making his cock throb and ache. He’s going to come untouched, he knows.

“Daddy’s little slut, taking it so well,”

“Yours, Daddy!

Stan feels like he’s vibrating, feels like there’s electricity trapped underneath his skin. He knows what he wants but doesn’t know how to ask for it; decides to just do it.

“Hit me, Daddy.”

Richie takes it in stride, and for a moment, Stanley swears he loves him.

“Hit you where, baby?”

“Face. Please, Daddy.”

Richie slows his thrusts to a slow rocking and gently caresses Stanley’s right cheek before giving it a hard slap. Stanley’s cock jerks.

“Again. Please.”

Richie does the same to the left, harder, leaving the skin bright pink underneath his palm.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Good boy.”

Richie’s thrusts speed up again, hard, harder, until Stan’s back is scraping against the carpet, sure to leave rug burn against his shoulder blades. He leans forward to bite at Stanley’s shoulders and collarbones before raising up and spitting directly in his face.

It shouldn’t be hot.

It’s so fucking hot.

Stan wails and Richie grips his hair, yanking his head to the side hard to devour his neck. It’s all too much, and his impending orgasm crests over him like a wave.

“Daddy!” he screams. “Daddy I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie groans into his skin before hovering above him. His eyes and hair are wild, lips swollen and spit slick. “You gonna cum on Daddy’s cock, baby?”

“Nn-Fuck! Ah! Yeah, Daddy!”

“Daddy’s little cumslut…”

Stan’s cock jerks again.

“Want you to cum inside me.”

“I will, baby. Daddy’s gonna fill you up.”

Richie’s thrusts turn erratic, losing their rhythm and power.

“Daddy’s gonna fill you up…”

“Daddy…” Stanley begs.

When Richie cums, it takes them both by surprise. Richie groans, low and loud, and Stan’s mouth drops open in a noiseless shout. Richie’s _throbbing_ inside of him, and it’s so hot, and there’s so _much_.

Stanley gasps, then shouts, cum shooting all the way up his chest in long spurts. And he must black out for a second, because the next thing he knows, Richie’s pulled out of him, and he’s licking that cum on his chest away with careful swipes of his tongue.

He tangles a hand in his hair and pulls him up for a kiss. Richie hums contentedly.

“Hi, sweet boy,” he all but coos.

“Hmm…hi.”

“You good?”

“So good.”

Richie smiles, all teeth and rosy cheeks. Then, he flicks Stan on the nose.

“Hey!” Stan squawks.

Richie laughs, eyes soft.

“I’m gonna keep you,” he murmurs before kissing Stan’s forehead.

Stan wants to keep him too.


End file.
